


Parental Supervision

by Enisy



Category: South Park
Genre: Closeted Character, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Our Beloved Craig Who Is a Homosexual, Pining, Sexuality Crisis, denial is not a river in Egypt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24876394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enisy/pseuds/Enisy
Summary: In which Craig brings home a girl, and Thomas Tucker has to come to terms with his son’s sexuality a second time.
Relationships: Craig Tucker/Tweek Tweak
Comments: 18
Kudos: 156





	Parental Supervision

At age fifteen, Craig brought home a girl.

This was an event Thomas Tucker had guiltily pictured once or twice, back when Tweek had first stumbled into Craig’s life. His emotional side, which thought back fondly on his own straight, _straightforward_ childhood, had hoped his son’s homosexuality was just a phase. His cerebral side had known this to be false – not just false, but unfair to Craig. This daydream had blurred into a dull sepia after the boys’ one-month anniversary, and completely evaporated as the years went by. Still, some part of Thomas had thought when it happened, _if_ it happened, he’d be relieved.

Instead, he was confused.

“This is Suzie,” said Craig, “from the Abortion Clinic.”

The girl flushed prettily. Her hair was chestnut in color and arranged in tight corkscrew curls, like a tray of cannelloni. “We _met_ at the Abortion Clinic,” she rushed to explain. “Craig was there on a bet, and I was investigating a rumor for the Pleases and Sparkles – for my girlfriends. Millie Larsen had shown us a list of clients from the Abortion Clinic that included Jenny Simons’s mother, but I proved that it was a fake, which Millie made up because Jenny’s boyfriend had called her out on wearing color contacts, since no one’s eyes could _naturally_ be that blue. _Suzie from the Abortion Clinic_ ,” she mimicked Craig’s voice with a huff. “It wasn’t funny the first time!”

“I just don’t want people to mix you up with Suzie from Choir Practice.” He gave her a peck on the forehead and headed for the kitchen to “chop up some lettuce for Stripe.”

Scratch that, Thomas was more than confused: he was flabbergasted. As soon as Suzie from the Abortion Clinic made herself comfortable on the sofa, launching on a discussion about _two-faced_ _lying_ _bitches_ with an equally flabbergasted Laura, he left the room to talk to his son.

“Craig.” Unfortunately, Craig’s posture turned defensive as soon as he saw his dad enter. So, they were gonna have to do this the hard way. Thomas felt his stomach seesaw with shame. He didn’t mean to corner his son like this – but dammit, how could he spring a new relationship _and_ a new sexual preference on them out of nowhere? _Again_?

He made a vague backwards gesture, as if asking his audience to guess what was behind Curtain C. “She seems nice,” he ventured. “But I thought…”

“You thought wrong.” Craig’s face was carved out of stone.

“So – so you’re _not_ gay?”

He shrugged. “I changed my mind.”

Craig made to get past him, as if the matter were settled now, but Thomas wasn’t satisfied with the answer he’d received. As awkward as this whole situation was, he had to press on. “You and Tweek were together for seven years, son.”

The boy sighed. He threw a look over Thomas’s shoulder, as if gauging whether his girlfriend was far enough not to overhear, then pitched his voice low. “We were faking it, okay?”

“You _WHAT_?”

The party in the living room – which now included Craig’s sister – turned to the kitchen in alarm. Thomas put out an apologetic hand, and they went back to discussing the eligibility criteria for the Pleases and Sparkles Committee.

“You were all so stoked about the idea,” Craig explained, “and you kept giving us money, so it was…” He reached for his hat, wound his index finger round a tassel. At least he had the decency to look awkward. “It was, like, the road of least resistance.”

“But – then – well –” There was a short span when the world collapsed around Thomas’s ears and he could only talk in monosyllables. “That was all made up? Tweek was over every other _day_ _._ ”

“So what? I like hanging out with him.” Something seemed to occur to Craig. He fished his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “Okay. Tweek will be here in five, so don’t say anything embarrassing.”

Thomas smacked his forehead. “Wait, _Tweek’s_ coming, too?” The world was spinning round and round. Stars and speckles dotted his vision, and he was pretty sure he saw a fish riding a unicorn.

“Well, yeah.” His son quirked an eyebrow, as if he couldn’t believe he and Thomas shared half of their genetic code. “It’s Thursday.”

  
  


Laura had made ground beef casserole, one of Thomas’s favorites, but it could hardly compensate for the withering atmosphere in the room. There were medieval torture devices less painful than this dinner. Thomas, for one, would happily put the thumbscrews to his own fingers if it meant not having to look at Tweek’s puppy eyes for another hour. He’d sooner have the _rack_.

“Honey, can you pass me the soy?”

“ _Ergh_ – I can’t reach it.”

“Not you, Tweek.”

The Brazen Bull. The Iron Maiden.

The moment the doorbell had rung, Craig had unceremoniously dropped his girlfriend from his lap. He’d taken two long strides to the door, then shuffled the rest of the way so as not to seem overeager. His face had lit up on seeing his ex-boyfriend, and he’d helped him shrug off his jacket, like always. But there had been no hugs. No hand-holding. No forehead kisses. Thankfully, Tweek had been briefed on Suzie from the Abortion Clinic, and if he’d felt any animus toward her, he’d hid it well. He had just waved at her and flashed a smile completely free of rancor.

He wasn’t smiling now.

“Tweek, honey, you haven’t touched your food,” Laura cooed, in full surrogate-mom mode. It was a force of habit, doting on that boy. “Do you want me to make you something else? I still have some dumplings left over from yesterday. I can warm them up for you – won’t take a minute.”

“Agh! No, thank you, Mrs. Tucker.”

Both she and Thomas bristled at that. “ _Mrs. Tucker_?” Thomas boomed. “Tweek, we’ve known each other for –”

Thankfully, at that point, Laura’s emotional intelligence kicked back into gear, and she nudged Thomas’s ankle with her foot. She went ahead and changed the topic. “So, Suzie, what did you think of Craig’s room? In its current state, it’s probably less of a bedroom and more of a National Strategic Sock Reserve.”

Tricia mumbled something under her breath. She’d been uncharacteristically rude and sullen throughout the meal. Suzie had a more appropriate response: she tittered. Charming girl, Thomas thought. He would have been over the moon if his son had brought her home, oh, six years ago.

“I was surprised by the amount of Red Racer merchandise,” she confessed. “Craig, I didn’t know you were such a fan. We should watch it together sometime!”

“Tweek and I finished it last month,” said Craig offhand.

As the evening wore on, Tweek seemed to shrink more and more into himself, like the time-lapse video of a wilting flower. His eyes were boring a hole into his plate, and every few seconds he would twitch and emit a small noise. _Ngah_. _Grr_. _Eek_. Thomas wanted to offer him something – a word of comfort, a disarming joke – but someone else beat him to it.

“Babe,” whispered Craig, “don’t be like that.”

Tweek’s head shot up.

Then Suzie’s head shot up. She was blinking in confusion. “Like what, Craig?”

Craig was conscious that he’d put his foot in his mouth. But he covered it up, reaching out and taking his girlfriend’s hand. “Don’t be so down,” he said. “I don’t mind rewatching Red Racer with you. It’s only the best show in the multiverse.”

Suzie made overtures to go home around 11 PM. Tweek, apparently, was spending the night: the sofa had already been made up for him. Craig walked his girlfriend to the door and kissed her on the lips, so long and deep that Thomas had to avert his eyes in embarrassment. That went some way into proving Craig’s sincerity. Maybe he _was_ straight. Maybe it _had_ all been a front. And still, the long-awaited relief, the sense of gratitude did not come. On the contrary, the entire prospect was unnerving to Thomas. That Tweek and Craig’s perfect romance was a sham. That they’d been suffering in silence for a full seven years. And worst of all: that he should know his own son so little.

  
  


Thomas had snuck out for a bathroom break sometime after midnight – inasmuch as a 280-pound man could “sneak” – when he heard voices emanating from the living room downstairs. They were furtive, hushed, but still recognizable as Craig and Tweek. Damn, but they’d stayed up late.

“Banshees are the worst, man, my heart fucking _somersaults_ when I hear that scream.”

Thomas’s curiosity got the best of him, so he tiptoed to the edge of the landing, from where he could see them on the sofa and hear their exchange more clearly. Their bodies were angled toward each other, and though he only had a partial view of them, he could tell Craig had both feet on the cushion – his knees jutting out over the backrest – while Tweek’s were curled up under him. They were chatting about an old videogame, nothing intimate, so he didn’t feel particularly guilty about eavesdropping.

“At least their attacks are not so badly telegraphed as some of the enemies in the first game.”

“I guess...”

Careful not to disturb them, Thomas sat down on the top step and watched.

“Gah! You know what _really_ freaks me out? Phantoms, man! They uncloak and sidle up to me out of nowhere and, AND I don’t have any time to react!”

“You don’t like things up close and personal?” asked Craig. His voice was shockingly deep. Already at this point, Thomas was entertaining the idea of repairing to bed.

“N-no!” Tweek squirmed a little on the spot.

“What about Husks?” breathed Craig. He lowered his feet to the floor, leaning across the sofa. Tweek eyed him warily, as if he were a sleeper agent nearing activation. “Don’t you just hate it when they run up to you and –” Without warning, Craig launched himself at the smaller boy, who let out a squeal of genuine distress. His whimpers soon turned into giggles, as Craig poked his belly and ribs, tickled his sides and armpits. When the giggles turned back into whimpers, it was of a wholly different kind, and oh, Thomas _really_ wished he’d listened to his conscience and gone back to sleep.

“Craig,” said Tweek, sounding pained. “Don’t.”

With one knee wedged between Tweek’s thighs and their mouths inches apart, Craig paused.

“Please don’t.”

Tweek seemed to be on the verge of tears. They both looked so young in their flannel pyjamas.

“I wasn’t –” Craig pulled away. He forced his hands off, all the way behind his back, as if they were unruly children that required discipline. Thomas’s heart ached for him. “Don’t make this weird, Tweek.”

The blonde bolted upright. “ _I’m_ making it weird?” he cried. Horrified at the volume of his anger, he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. When he removed it, his voice was barely audible, a hiss: “ _I’m_ making it weird, Craig? You’re the one who grabbed me! You’re the one who’s –”

“Tweek, shut up.”

“– so deep in the closet you’re, _ngh_ , about to uncover Feldspar’s hidden loot!” Tweek’s hands found his hair. It was a habit he’d grown out of, and he seemed surprised at his own action, but he still gave the woolly golden mass a tug.

“I said _stop it_ , okay?”

Most people wouldn’t be able to tell from his indomitable monotone, but Craig was upset. In fact, the last time Thomas had seen him so upset was when Stripe #4 had crept into the laundry basket and ended up in the washing machine. His body had gone stiff. Something cold and defiant had wedged inside his eyes, and the very air around him crackled with spite, like a thousand angry gnomes snapping their briefcases shut.

But he still reached up to gently pluck Tweek’s hands out of his hair.

  
  


Déjà vu was a law of nature today, like gravity, or black people’s penchant for basketball. Thomas had made himself scarce before the boys clocked out for the night, but when he went to his son’s bedroom, he found the door open and Craig leaning back on his pillow, wide awake. He looked small and weirdly vulnerable, like he had back in fourth grade.

Thomas sat down on the bed, slowly, slowly, as if Craig were a wild animal he didn’t want to spook.

“Son,” he said, “you need to listen to me.”

The boy glared at him. “I don’t need a pep talk, dad.”

“Yes, you do.” Thomas gave what he hoped was a comforting smile, although he felt like a bad parent, completely unequal to the task at hand. “You can’t fight being gay. I don’t know what the idea was, bringing Suzie here, but it’s obvious you still have feelings for –” He stopped himself from saying _Tweek_. “– other boys. Are you, um… are you experimenting? You know you don’t need to act a certain way just ‘cause everyone else is doing it. You have nothing to prove. Not to South Park, and definitely not to me.”

For a moment, Craig looked as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he glanced away.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” The implication was horrific. Maybe his sepia daydreams of daughters-in-law and biological grandchildren had seeped into his behavior at some point. Maybe _he’d_ done this to Craig. Scared, desperate, Thomas fumbled for a way to make repairs. “Son, when did you start caring about what other people think? Seriously. Fuck ‘em.” He flipped _other people_ the bird to illustrate.

Craig’s expression turned pensive, but he didn’t otherwise react.

“I’m not gonna give you money, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” Craig did not acknowledge the joke. The moment passed. Thomas heaved a sigh and, having done all he could, he got up to leave the room.

The boy’s next words were so soft, at first he thought he had imagined them. “I think I hurt Tweek.”

Thomas paused at the doorway, contemplating how to respond. “The first time I heard the name ‘Tweek,’” he said carefully, “was when you kids sent each other to the hospital with swollen eyes and fractured ribs.” He mustered a faint smile. “You don’t need to worry about him. He’s a tough cookie.”

Craig appeared to mull this over. “A lot tougher than me.” He made no effort to conceal his awe. “He used to go out in the snow when the temperature was 20 degrees. _S_ _hirtless_.”

What could Thomas say to that? “Oh.”

“Back when we were looking for the Stick of Truth. Man, that was a long time ago.” Craig stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, as if they spelled out the possible trajectories of his fate. His thumbs embraced like tiny sumo wrestlers. “I’ll talk to him,” he finally announced. Before Thomas could regain his bearings, the boy had shot up and brushed past him on the way to the stairs.

“Wait – you’ll –” The man’s arms flapped helplessly. “ _N_ _ow_?”

Craig was frowning. “Yeah?”

Oh God. Thomas rubbed his hands across his face, trying not to linger on the thought of the boys _making up_ at 2 AM on the family sofa. The mental images were too vivid. “Just…” Dammit, _Grandma Tucker_ had gifted him that sofa. “Don’t tell your mother.”

That earned him a raised middle finger. Goddamn teenagers.

Still, Thomas couldn’t stave off a grin at the snatches of conversation that wafted up a few minutes later. He pumped his fist at his son’s conciliatory tone. He chuckled at his son’s boyfriend’s cheeky retorts. Heck, he even sent up a quick prayer at the smacking, slobbering sounds.

“– so deep in the closet you’re, _hhh_ , about to bump into Mr. Stotch.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah…”

“Would a closeted person do this?”

All was right with the world. At least with Craig and Tweek.

**Author's Note:**

> I just adore Thomas. He deserves more love. If you have a few seconds to write a comment, it would be very appreciated! :)
> 
> I'm [enisywrites](https://enisywrites.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. Come on over if you want to drop me a prompt or a question, or to just say hi!


End file.
